


UnHoly

by AvaRosier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Priest!Jon, Spanking, don't bother telling me i'm going to hell, gratuitous kinkification of religious concepts, i already am and it ain't for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: He always knows when it's her.It's that perfume; she's the only one in the congregation who wears that particular brand. It tickles his nose with the scents of bergamot, vanilla, and peony. Jon inhales deeply, knowing that to even indulge in this small act was succumbing to temptation. He slides open the small window and through the hazy screen, he can just discern the outline of Sansa's head, bent over her clasped hands.“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she begins in a soft, melodious voice. (AN: This is seriously irreverent. Do not read if you don't want to see Catholicism turned into a kinkfic. I warned you!)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweet_Solitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweet_Solitude/gifts).



****__  


_(Courtesy of  ever-hungry-aria on Tumblr)_

* * *

 

 

**_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_ **  
**_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_ **  
**_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_ **  
**_Only then I am human_ **  
**_Only then I am clean_ **  
**_Amen. Amen. Amen_ **

-Hozier, ' _Take Me To Church_ '

 

* * *

 

 

He always knows when it's her.

It's that perfume; she's the only one in the congregation who wears that particular brand. It tickles his nose with the scents of bergamot, vanilla, and peony. Jon inhales deeply, knowing that to even indulge in this small act was succumbing to temptation. He slides open the small window and through the hazy screen, he can just discern the outline of Sansa's head, bent over her clasped hands.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she begins in a soft, melodious voice. “It's been two weeks since my last confession. I accuse myself of the following sins: I have been rude to my sister, though I have since apologized. I stole some of my roommate's chocolate stash. And I'm still having impure thoughts.”

He can't say he knew Sansa Stark very well before he went into the priesthood; he may have been friends with her older brother, Robb, but Sansa had rarely ever interacted with him. The first time she'd come into his small church, just over six months ago, it was the first he'd seen her since she was a gangly, sweet teenage girl. Well, now she was most certainly a woman- still sweet, but with lush curves and sensual promise in those blue eyes of hers. When she smiled, he wanted all the things he had told himself he could live without.

He clears his throat to dispel that thought. “A-are these the same impure thoughts you've struggled with before?”

“Yes,” her voice drops to a whisper. “They are so wicked, and I _know_ it's wrong to think about things like that, especially about a man who is forbidden to me.” There's an ugly part of him, deep down, a creature of jealousy and covetousness that wonders about the identity of this man. That castigates himself every time he so much as wonders why Sansa is telling him these things.

“If he were not...would you act on these desires?” The question hangs heavily in the silence that follows.

“Is it so bad if I say yes?” Sansa pleads through the mesh. Jon measures his response, not sure if he is strong enough to counsel her the way he ought. He's not. “I think, if neither of you were hurting anyone, God would be merciful. But I do think He expects his children to exercise self-control. Carnal urges are a part of human nature, yes, but we are also taught to find grace and wisdom in not following every last urge,” he cautions her, giving himself just enough rope to hang himself with. “Is he...the man you have these thoughts about...is he aware of them?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He tries to keep his tone even. “Has he attempted to reciprocate your feelings?”

“Not yet," she says mutinously. Jon sighs and clutches his black, leatherbound bible a little tighter. He doesn't think his side of the box has ever felt so hot and stuffy as it does right now.

“Sansa...” he begins, throwing the supposed anonymity of the confessional box out the proverbial window.

“Just tell me what my penance should be, Father Jon,” she snaps, sounding defeated.

“Four ' _Our Fathers_ ' and two ' _Hail Marys_ ',” he tells her after grappling for a number. Jon listens with a pained heart as Sansa recites the Act of Contrition, listening particularly close when she gets to the bit about dreading the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. He really should heed this as a warning. Once finished, however, Sansa doesn't immediately start to leave.

“You know, when I was at school, the sisters would just give us a spanking or a caning.” She chuckles wryly, but there is an edge to her voice that tests his boundaries. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her how inappropriate he considers that punishment, how the act is more a surrender to temptation on the part of those inflicting it, but he doesn't. Instead, what he says is: “Would you prefer to be spanked to earn your absolution?”

“By you?”

“I would be administering the punishment, yes.” Jon adjusts his trousers where they have grown tight with his thickening erection.

“Ye-yes,” she says breathlessly.

“Go upstairs,” he orders her, voice rough. “My room is at the end of the hallway. Wait for me there.”

Sansa says nothing, but he hears the rattle of her getting to her feet and the creak of the door as she leaves the booth. Jon swallows hard and considers just how much penance he would have to do for this. _Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned. I have been lying all these years when I took my vows out of selflessness. I wanted nothing more than the respect and admiration of people, conferred upon me by this white collar_. With that, he sets down his bible and exits the confessional box, slowly but steadily making his way up the stairs to the small rooms that make up his apartment. He has been a priest for three years and only now can he finally admit that his reasons for doing so have not brought him the satisfaction he thought it would.

But Sansa, she is like a flame drawing his eye wherever she goes. Maybe it is another altar he wishes to worship at.

She stands there in the middle of his bedroom, biting her lip uncertainly. He drinks in the sight of her, unimpended by the confessional window. She still wears the loose-fitting burgundy dress that flutters around her thighs and the thick knee-high socks but her boots are now sitting next to a chair along with her jacket. Jon can hear the wind whistling outside; it is likely dark and chilly now that it is dinnertime. Better that they are in here where it is warm. Sansa has only left one table lamp on, bathing her hair in a fiery halo and leaving all else in shadow.

Her eyes are on him, half-lidded as she watches him approach. “Alright then,” he tells her, picking up the chair at his desk and setting it in the middle of the room. Taking a seat, he jerks his chin in the direction of his lap. He braces his legs apart, both feet solidly on the floor. Sansa goes carefully, lowering herself until one leg is underneath her breasts and the other is against her thighs. The chair creaks under their combined weight and Jon looks down the side to where her braid sweeps the floor next to her braced palms. He can feel the tension in her body, the shortness of her breath, and he hasn't even touched her yet.

He does that now, resting one hand on the middle of her back and the other on the smooth skin of her upper thigh where it is exposed by her dress sliding up. Jon teases a finger beneath the hem, feeling how hot her skin is, how she shudders. “You may be submitting to this punishment in order to earn forgiveness for your sins but if at any point you need this to stop, I want you to tell me. Do you understand, Sansa?” He asks her directly after she doesn't immediately respond. This is- he's never done anything like _this_. 

“Mm-mnh,” she hums and he sees her head bobbing upside-down.

Jon gives her no warning before he lifts his right hand and brings it down upon her cloth-covered bottom with a muffled _smack_! She gasps and jerks in surprise, but does not endeavor to escape his lap. So he does it again, testing the strength of his hand against the fleshy part of her bottom and upper thighs. After a dozen or so smacks- some hard, some soft- Jon decides to increase the severity of the spanking.

“Lift up a bit,” he orders her hoarsely, grasping the hem of her dress in his hand. Sansa complies without question and he slides the soft material up past her ribcage, exposing the band of her lacy black bra, the slope of her spine, the simple black panties, and the wide curve of her ass to his view. She doesn't seem to even breathe then, except to inhale and exhale sharply when he grips the slightly pink flesh with his hands. “Let's get this out of the way, too,” he murmurs as if in a trance, reaching for the panties. She makes no move to stop him as he peels them over her bottom and lets them fall down to her ankles.

This time, when he rains down a series of blows, Jon now has the satisfaction of seeing both cheeks wobble. Her cries are loud as they echo through the room and below the sound of his hand making contact with her ass, there is the harsh sound of his breathing. Sansa is twisting and squirming in his lap, begging and pleading but not telling him to stop. The motion forces her hip to rub against his cock and Jon has to pause in order to get himself back under control. He rests his palm against the reddened curve of her right buttock and feels Sansa's entire body panting and quivering.

“Shh,” he murmurs to her when he picks up the telltale sniffling. “You did so good, Sansa. So good.” Ever so slowly, her body relaxes and curves back down over his lap. Jon continues to rub and lightly massage her, but when one or two intrepid fingers dart down in between the twin globes and encounter the sticky wetness clinging to her thighs, her legs fall open. Scarcely breathing himself, Jon investigates further. His fingers seem to glide through the flesh, knuckles scraping in between the lips of her cunt.

“Jon!” Sansa whimpers. “ _Please_...”

He can no more deny her than he can deny himself. He pushes off of the chair, pulling Sansa to her feet with him and propelling her backwards towards the desk up against a window. She goes unsteadily, still hobbled by the panties wound around her ankles. As her bottom hits the edge of the desk, Jon takes the opportunity to study her. Sansa's cheeks are pink and her eyelashes are wet, making the blue of her irises appear luminous. She stares into his eyes as if she can see into his very soul. Before Jon has a chance to feel doubt creeping in, Sansa is flinging her arms around his shoulders and pressing her lips against his.

Jon returns the kiss with equal fervor, tasting the faint saltiness of her tears as he licks along the seam of her lips. Sliding his hand underneath her dress, he returns to what he had been doing a scant minute earlier. Sansa lets out a happy little hum as Jon begins to frig her with his fingers. “You really needed this, didn't you, darling girl?” He murmurs against her ear. That gets him a full-body shudder and a groaned “ _yes_ ”. He swallows her moans and breathy sighs with another long, drugging kiss, until he can wait no longer.

He's thought too much about this, dreamed too often of this. Sansa lets out a pained whimper when her bottom makes contact with the polished wood of his desk as Jon lifts her up and sets her on top of it. She shakes off her panties and he's already falling to his knees before her, already using both hands to push her knees further apart, opening her up to his gaze. Not an apple: a fruit: a fig: a cunt.

The fault was not with Eve for tempting Adam in the Garden; the sin lay with Adam for lying to himself, for pretending that denying himself was holy. _How could this not be holy?_ Jon wonders as he drinks from her cunt as if it were communion. He revels in her musky scent, using her rising cries as signposts to tell him how to use his tongue. Sansa has managed to grab ahold of a fistful of his hair and is rocking wantonly against his mouth. Gradually, Jon works one arm up underneath her dress, one hand beneath the band of her bra, until he can palm a breast. That's when he focuses on the hungry little clit peeking out from underneath its hood, lashing it with his tongue and closing his lips around it and suckling until she's going wild underneath him.

Her spine arches off the desk like an electric current, making a nipple nudge against his palm, and Jon continues to tongue her through her orgasm. It's not until she's collapsed, trembling, that he darts down to lap at the cream there.

When he finally lifts his head from her pink and glistening cunny, Jon feels more clear-headed than he's been in years. Lightning flashes and thunder rolls, rattling the bones as Sansa yanks him to his feet and reaches with nimble fingers for the buttons of his shirt. Jon helps her by wrenching his now-damned white collar out and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Shirt and undershirt are removed as she starts frantically working on his belt buckle. The way she bites her lip when she reaches inside and pulls out his erect cock has him momentarily regretting that he can't sit back and slip his cock in between those swollen lips just yet. For now, he'll just have to settle for leaning Sansa back and letting the underside of his cock glide in between the lips of her cunt while she struggles to tug her dress up over her head.

Jon doesn't wait for her to unsnap her bra before he pushes inside her, groaning as the sensations of hot and wet envelop his cock. Sansa lets out a curse, barely flinging her bra away before she is scrambling for balance. Jon grips her hips in his hands and slams into her, the force of his thrust making the desk rattle against the wall. He watches her reaction, asking without words if this is how she wants it.

“Yes,” she licks her lips, staring up at him with hooded eyes. “Like that, please. Don't stop.”

He won't. He won't ever stop. It's Jon's turn to shudder as he thrusts again, then again, gradually picking up speed until he's fucking her against the edge of the desk. The sound of their flesh slapping together is obscene. Sansa's fingernails drag trails into the skin of his back, likely drawing some blood. A mortification of the flesh, releasing his sins, sanctifying him. Sanctifying them.

All manner of words spill out of his mouth, both sacred and profane. Jon can feel the orgasm building at the base of his spine, making his balls contract. It's been so long since he's done more than fist his cock, and even then, most of that in the past few months has been due to Sansa herself. She's urging him on, straining against him and he can feel the grip of her cunt tightening around him. Jon grunts, trying to maintain his rhythm as he reaches down between their bodies, past the matted hair, to thumb at her clit. That does the trick and Sansa is clamping down around him, keening as she comes apart. Jon shouts as he follows her, thrusting erratically as ecstasy ripples throughout his body in waves.

Gradually, he stills, breathing raggedly against her collarbone as he holds her against him. He can feel their flesh quivering together, damp with sweat. Eventually he raises himself from her body, but not without a parting lick to her nipple, and steps back, letting his softening cock slip out of her.

Sansa sits up, flushed but quiescent. He carefully gathers her up in his arms, carrying her over to the narrow bed in the corner where he sets her down on top. She doesn't take her eyes off him as she helps him pull down the covers. "What?" He asks her.

"Am I forgiven?" She doesn't detail exactly what for, but Jon thinks he knows. He reaches down and strokes a thumb tenderly over her cheek. 

"Always."

"Are you absolved now, too?"

Jon doesn't tear his eyes away from hers, but he is aware of the dark brown wooden crucifix hanging on the wall out the corner of his eye. "I will be."

 


End file.
